


Lazy afternoon

by Fatale (femme)



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Sundays should be spent pantless, Neal thinks, stretching out next to Peter in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lazy afternoon. Sunday. 

All Sundays should be spent pantless, Neal thinks, stretching out next to Peter in bed. 

"If you had to get a tattoo, what would you get and where?" Peter asks.

Neal thinks, rolls over on his stomach, chin propped on his arms. "Botticelli on the butt," he says, finally. 

Peter's questions maybe don't require this level of consideration, but after all the half-truths and misdirections Neal's fed Peter over the years, it seems only fair to answer inane questions as honestly as possible. Besides, Neal's spent the better part of every relationship lying to his partners, and look how those relationships turned out. He's trying something. 

"Both the alliteration and the canvas pleases me," Peter says, craning his neck to get a better view of Neal's ass. 

Neal grins, obliges Peter by twisting his hips a bit. "You?"

"No, no, no. I'm not done yet," Peter says. "Why Botticelli? Which one? Not Raphael? Why not a Pollock on the pecs?"

" _Birth of Venus_ ," Neal says. "And on the butt because a surprisingly few number of people have seen it. All good con men avoid tattoos -- too memorable."

"Really?" Peter says, brows raised. 

Neal's not sure why Peter and Moz consider him such a lothario, a regular international man of ass, but he's had about four serious partners since he was old enough to drink, a handful of one night stands, and one terrifying encounter involving canned cheese in Madrid. 

"As of late, fewer and fewer," Neal says ruefully. "And the _Birth of Venus_ because...it's beautiful. The lines, her hair, her neck. It's unrealistic, idealistic." Neal stops, closes his eyes, pictures the painting. "It's just...perfection," he breathes. 

When he opens his eyes, Peter's looking at him, still, eyes intent. "Yes," Peter agrees softly. "It is."


	2. comment ficlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh, I think this was written as a comment ficlet and changes tenses and is just a general mess. But someone asked about the cheese. So.

nacho business (see what i did there??)  
peter/neal  
wc: 370

 

“Look,” Peter said, “you can’t just drop a half-story like that and expect me not to ask.”

“Peter,” Neal said, “just--let this one go.”

Peter shook his head. “I can’t, no, sorry.”

Peter didn’t look very sorry. He looked like a cop who’d caught wind of a juicy story and wouldn’t stop hounding Neal about it until he’d learned every last embarrassing detail. Fuck, he hated sleeping with a cop, except when he was actually sleeping with a cop. 

Neal blew out a breath. “Fine--just, don’t laugh. Okay?”

“Promise,” Peter said, arm up in a mock salute.

“There was this girl--”

“Of course,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

Neal glared. “Do you want me to tell the story or not?”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“There was a girl: dark hair, and big, gorgeous, bouncing--”

“Okay, I get it!” Peter interrupted loudly.

Neal cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Anyway, she had this food fetish--”

“I see where this going.”

“God, do you ever shut up? How do you get through interrogations? Do you just tell everyone what you know before they can even confess? Do they last fifteen hours because you can’t possibly keep your mouth shut?”

“You should know,” Peter said, smug.

Neal sighed. “Yeah, point. Anyway,” Neal said, “this girl loved food and sex, wanted to do the nastiest stuff with seafood--”

“You can skip this part, I want to hear about the canned nacho cheese.”

 

“Okay, so, she had this canned cheese and wanted to smear it all over my body and lick it off.”

“Why wouldn’t she just pick chocolate?”

“I don’t know, Peter,” Neal said and shook his head. “She was...unique. So, she poured the cheese all over my body and you know, all over my--” Neal gestured wildly at his groin.

“Penis?” Peter supplied helpfully. “Scrotum, testicles?”

“God, you’re a buzzkill. But, yes. Only this was--neither one of us noticed--the cheese, it had jalapenos in it.”

Peter winced. “My god.”

“It didn’t feel great,” Neal said, cringing at the memory. “Mozzie once convinced me to have all my pubic hair waxed and I can honestly say the nacho cheese burned worse.”

“Wait,” Peter said, “what’s this about waxing and Mozzie?”

“Oh, _Peter_ ,” Neal said with a sigh.


End file.
